Trojan Horse (31 page)

Any word on Daryl? Tell me you’re being careful. And cover my tracks, please. I need my job.

B

Attached was a document with four photographs and the data to go with them. All looked to Jeff to be of Middle Eastern origin. One was his man. He was wearing a light beard, was younger, and looked innocent, but Jeff would have recognized him anywhere.

Ahmed Hossein al-Rashid was the name. Iranian. With a local address. If it wasn’t still good it would be recent and Jeff was optimistic that with it, the face, and the name he could run his man down. If he had enough time.

He quickly sent the information to Frank, telling him this was Daryl’s kidnapper and requesting any information the Company had on him as quickly as possible.

Prague 3, Taboritska 5 1001/27. Jeff entered the address and went to the map. It wasn’t that far from where he’d staked out the lockup. He made a mental note of directions, then started the car. It was possible Daryl could be there. If not, perhaps Ahmed would be, and given how Jeff felt, that would be very satisfying indeed.

Daryl lifted her right eyelid ever so slightly. The man sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, which he’d leaned against the door. His arms were crossed and he was asleep.

Despite the gag over her mouth, she’d nodded off herself after the other man had left. Awake now, she listened to the sounds of the building and determined it was still night though surely getting close to dawn. There was no clock in view. She closed her eye and willed herself to think.

Why hadn’t she been questioned? They’d been quick enough to torture her in Geneva so why not now? It was the question she couldn’t forget and though she didn’t want to face the reality that when the other man returned she’d certainly be tortured again,
why
he was delaying bothered her. She couldn’t help fear that something even more terrible was being arranged for her.

One thought was that this apartment wasn’t suitable for their plans. She’d heard others through the walls, even some people walking and laughing just outside on the street. The place wasn’t secure. But they’d surely have one that was and she suspected that was the reason for the delay. The other man, the boss, had gone off to make arrangements and get some rest. But he’d be back.

She tested her wrists. They were no looser than before and she despaired she’d ever wiggle her hands free. She felt behind her with her fingers but her movement was very limited and except for touching the wall she’d found nothing that would help.

Her feet were a different matter. Once her captor had nodded off, she’d started working her legs up and down; slowly her ankle ties had become slacker. She had no idea if she could get her feet free, and even if she could there was little she could do afterward with her hands tied. The man had the door blocked and though he was asleep she’d noticed he reacted to every little sound. If she wasn’t very careful she’d wake him up.

Steadily, and slowly, she continued working her hands and feet.

There was nowhere to park on Taboritska 5 so Jeff was forced to find a spot three blocks away. He locked the car, then set out in the predawn darkness toward the address. He stopped at one store window, straightened his appearance in the reflection, then moved on. The day-old beard was now a fashion statement so he wasn’t concerned with attracting attention.

Once again he was torn with indecision. Should he call the local police with what information he’d developed? If he did, how long would it take for them to act? They’d surely check with Geneva and Jeff didn’t want to consider what the Geneva police would say about him cutting out on them. When the officer learned that Jeff had information he’d withheld, the situation would only get worse. Withholding such knowledge might very well be a crime in Switzerland. Knowing governments, the situation could easily end up focusing on his behavior, ignoring what he’d come up with.

And just what was that? He was certain he’d identified the face of one of the abductors. NSA, as the result of an illegal use of resources, had produced an address in Prague. He’d identified the vehicle the man had driven and the CIA had given him the address in Prague it was registered to, also information he’d obtained illegally. Both Bridget and Frank were out a mile on this. How could he come forward now with what he had?

He couldn’t. He’d made his decision and both he and Daryl were stuck with the consequences. No, going to the local police was out of the question, not until after Daryl was safe or he had no other alternative.

Jeff turned down Taboritska 5. The streetlights were still lit but toward the east he made out the first blush of dawn. The city was starting to come alive. Taboritska 5 was a residential street, not the best neighborhood but certainly not the worst. The few people out struck him as foreigners and that made sense. Ahmed, as he’d come to think of the face in the photograph, wouldn’t want to stick out. He’d select a street with other immigrants.

Then he was passing 1001. He slowed a little but didn’t stop. You had to be buzzed through and the number 27 suggested to Jeff that the apartment was on the second floor though he had no way of knowing that for certain. He walked on to the corner where several people were already gathered at a bus stop and stood with them so as not to attract attention.

The sky was growing light as the city awakened. What to do?

Ahmed slid from the bed and went into the bathroom. He started the shower, not bothering to close the door. He wanted Saliha to wake up. She needed to get going if she was to pack and catch her morning flight.

As he stood under the hot water he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. He was exhausted. Every problem he’d taken to bed was still with him, and in the bleak light of a new day they appeared as intractable as they had in the black of night.

Well, he’d solved one issue. Saliha would be on her way and the key chain would arrive in Iran the day after the next. And none too soon. It was vital that Iran detonate its first nuclear bomb and take its proper place in the world. He had no doubt that Hamid was correct in his assessment. All she had to do was get to Iran, turn it over, and then all the mistakes of the last few days would be washed away. In fact, he could expect a reward, even a promotion, for his part in transferring this essential information.

Ahmed stepped from the shower and began to towel off. Regardless, he’d deal with the American woman this morning. It was no longer vital but if he could extract more information from her so much the better. Letting her go was out of the question. She knew him; she knew Karim. She was bright and he wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t picked their names out of their Farsi conversations.

No, her fate was sealed.

It would make his task this day simpler as it was easier to get information when it didn’t matter what you did to someone. Once you cut off body parts, subjects always talked. Something in their nature knew it was over and they wished to die in one piece as much as they could. It was part of the primitive in us, Ahmed decided.

And it was a shame. She was a pretty woman—and tough. He wasn’t going to enjoy any of this but it had to be done. Karim would take care of her after. And that’s when he’d tell him Ali was dead.

As he dressed, he glanced at the woman’s laptop. Safer to leave it? Or take it? He decided to leave it just in case something went wrong at Karim’s.

“Saliha!” he said. “Get up. You have to go if you’re going to catch your airplane.” Saliha groaned, rolled to her side and pulled the sheet over her head. “Come on!” he said. “Up!” He reached over and pulled the sheet off her. “I mean it.”

Saliha opened her eyes, squinted against the morning sunlight now streaming in the window, then slowly climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Ahmed sat at his computer and sent a message that, when read, would be interpreted to mean that his mule was on her way. That should make Hamid happy.

Next, Ahmed put the pot on and prepared morning coffee. By the time it was ready, Saliha was finished with her shower and was sitting on the edge of the bed, preparing to dress. Ahmed glanced at his watch. He needed to leave. He handed her the USB key chain. As she reached for it he seized her wrist. “Make no mistake.”

She started and pulled back, then arched her eyebrow. “When have I ever made a mistake?”

“Don’t start now.”

Saliha wrenched her arm free, then stood up and confronted him. “Don’t ever touch me like that again, you understand?”

“Just make the trip.” He met her eyes and held them. “Don’t forget I know where your family lives.” He saw the fear. “Now hurry.”

Jeff had moved down the street and returned to the bus queue three times, careful that the waiting passengers had turned over and there was no one to remember him from earlier. The city was alive now, a busy workday in the middle of the week, nearly everyone in a hurry.

He’d risked as much time as he could watching the apartment building. He’d seen four people leave, presumably for work. That was his way in. But he hesitated. He knew he had no time to waste but still he struggled with his decision to act alone. He was not a trained agent. What if he managed to get Daryl killed in his attempt? What if he was killed and she was left to her fate?

One of the men in line gave him an odd look and Jeff realized he’d been waiting there earlier. He glanced at his watch then set out up the street. He’d go around the block and enter the apartment building from the opposite direction. It was time. He just hoped it wasn’t past time.

Ahmed opened the door to his apartment building and stepped outside. He paused and looked at the sky. It was going to be a good day. The street was bustling with activity and he realized he’d taken longer to leave than he’d intended to. He set out for Karim’s apartment at a brisk pace. He had a great deal to do this morning, none of it pleasant. Better to get it over with. Fortunately, it was not far.

Jeff came around the corner of the building just after Ahmed passed from sight. He went to the entrance of 1001 and stopped. There were two rows of eight intercoms and buttons, so sixteen apartments in all. The building was four stories high so there were likely four apartments to each floor. The number 27 made no sense to him. If it was on the second floor, it should be 20 to 24 or some variation of it, or so it seemed to him. He reminded himself he wasn’t familiar with how apartments were numbered in Prague or if there was even a standard system. And he seemed to recall that floors were numbered differently than they were in America. The second floor was the first floor and so on.

He stepped off the porch and assumed a position against the wall, doing his best to blend in, behaving as if he was waiting. He glanced at his watch.

It took two minutes but a woman of middle years came out of the doorway. Jeff rushed by her, grabbed the door, and let himself in. She never looked back.

The building smelled of fried food, unusual odors Jeff couldn’t place. The entryway had not been swept in some time. Bits of paper and dust were gathered in the corners.

Jeff stopped inside the doorway. He couldn’t just knock on the door once he’d found the apartment. How to get into it? As he was puzzling that out an enormous man wearing a tattered undershirt stepped from the apartment beside the door.
The concierge,
Jeff thought as the man looked him up and down.

“Do you speak English?” Jeff asked. The man slowly shook his head. “Number twenty-seven. You understand?” Again the man shook his head. Jeff thought a moment, then on the wall wrote the number “27” with his finger, then with a look inquired about it.

“Ah!” the man said with a strong odor of garlic. He stood perfectly immobile.

Jeff reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and removed a $50 bill. He held it up. The man shook his head, then held up two fingers. Jeff reached into the wallet and pulled out another $50. With a smile the concierge let him enter, then watched Jeff mount the stairs.

Number 27 was at the end of the hallway on the third floor. Jeff approached quietly, then placed his ear to the door but could hear nothing. He turned the doorknob and found it locked. He drew himself back and slammed into the door.

Without warning, the rope the man had used to bind her ankles snapped free and Daryl could move her legs. She quickly looked at him. He was still sleeping, even though sunlight was now streaming in a window. He wouldn’t stay asleep long.

She moved her arms again but could still find no give. He’d done a much better job there. What to do?

Karim closed his mouth, then sighed. She shut her eyes and waited. Would he be able to see she’d freed her legs?

She eased her breathing, fearful he could hear her. She wished she wasn’t gagged. She’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Again she pushed at it with her tongue but to no effect. A moment later she heard the front chair legs drop to the floor, then the man get up and walk away. There was a pause, water ran, then she heard him urinating.

This was it, she decided. This had to be it. The other man would return any minute. With her hands still bound, she had almost no chance against Karim but she stood no chance at all against the two of them.

She pulled her legs up, then managed to get herself on her feet. It was harder than she thought and took longer than she wanted. The man was still urinating. She moved to the door, turned her back to it, and groped for the doorknob. She got a hand on it but before she could turn it, he came out of the bathroom. Spotting her, his eyes grew wide for a moment, then he lunged at her.